LIVING  TEACHERS 


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LIVING  TEACHERS. 
THE  TEACHER'S  CANDLESTICK. 
THE  CHARM  OF  THE  IMPOSSIBLE 
THE  SEED,  THE  SOIL,  AND  THE 

SOWER. 

THE  TEACHER— REAL  AND  IDEAL. 
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THE  PILGRIM  PRESS 
Boston         New  York         Chicago 


LIVING  TEACHERS 

X 


BY 

MARGARET  SLATTERY 


THE  PILGRIM  PRESS 
Boston         New  York         Chicago 


Copyright,  1909 
By  F.  M.  BARTON  COMPANI 


LIVING    TEACHERS 

I  SHALL  never  forget  my  first 
glimpse  of  it  hanging  there  on 
the  wall  before  me  as  I  opened  the 
door  of  the  art  gallery.  Outside  the 
sun  beat  fiercely  down  upon  the  city 
streets,  and  the  worn  faces  of  the  peo- 
ple dragging  themselves  back  to  work 
in  scorching  mills  and  stores  and  shops 
had  plunged  me  into  the  depths  of 
questioning,  as  to  the  why  of  things 
in  this  busy,  hurrying  world  of  ours. 
But  I  forgot  the  problems.  Forgot 
everything!  There  it  was  in  the  plain, 
dark  frame,  that  wonderful  picture  of 
the  sea.  The  fury  of  a  storm  was 
upon  it,  and  the  wind  had  piled  up 
giant  waves  deep  crested  with  foam 
as  white  as  snow,  just  ready  to  break. 

7 


LIVING      TEACHERS 

Nicely  poised — just  ready — and  as  I 
looked  I  half  expected  to  see  them 
dash  upon  the  waiting  shore.  But  all 
was  still.  I  stood  with  fascinated  gaze 
— but  they  did  not  break — I  was  look- 
ing at  a  picture  of  the  sea.  For  ten 
long  years  and  more  it  might  hang 
there,  but  that  soft,  white  crest  would 
never  break,  creep  along  the  sand  and 
dash  against  the  solid  rock.  It  was 
just  a  picture — not  the  sea. 

Then  I  remembered  that  other  day 
when  standing  upon  the  rocks  of  our 
northern  shore,  I  had  seen  the  sea.  It 
was  smooth  as  glass,  deep  and  charm- 
ing and  still;  then  a  wind  in  the 
night,  the  pouring  rain,  and  morning 
broke.  I  braced  myself  against  a  rock, 
not  daring  to  approach  the  place 
where  yesterday  I  sat  so  calmly.  Now 

8 


LIVING       TEACHERS 

the  thundering  crash  of  the  breakers 
upon  the  shore  thrilled  me,  the  spray 
dashed  over  me,  the  craft  securely  an- 
chored in  the  harbor  plunged  and 
rocked  on  the  giant  waves  and  the 
steamer  dared  not  try  to  make  her 
landing.  Every  wave  as  it  pounded 
the  granite  rock  seemed  to  shout  to 
me;  over  and  over  on  the  wild  surges 
it  came,  "I  am  strength  —  force  — 
power — the  sea — the  real  sea."  Here 
on  the  wall  before  me  in  the  quiet 
of  the  gallery  hung  "The  Sea" — over 
yonder,  breaking  upon  the  northern 
shore  was  the  sea. 

There  was  such  a  difference.  Why 
did  one  please  my  eye  and  the  other 
thrill  my  soul?  You  know — one  was 
a  picture — the  other  was  the  sea.  One 
was  a  good  copy,  a  carefully  wrought 


LIVING       TEACHERS 

representation ;  the  other  was  the  sea  in 
reality,  with  its  boundless  shores,  its 
hidden  secrets,  its  resistless  power 
wrung  from  fathomless  depths.  It  was 
real.  Reality,  that  was  what  made  the 
difference. 

Reality  gives  power.  I  knew  then 
and  I  know  now  that  it  is  even  so  with 
men  and  women.  Especially  is  it  true 
of  us  who  are  teachers,  that  reality 
alone  gives  power. 

What  are  Living  Teachers?  They 
are  real,  genuine  like  the  great  Christ. 
He  was  never  in  any  sense  a  copy,  an 
echo,  and  so  he  had  strength  and  force. 
He  was  real  and  therein  lay  his  power. 

He  was  a  real  teacher  because  he 

had  something  to  teach.     Something 

he  believed  would  make  men   better 

and  the  world  happier.     He  believed 

10 


LIVING       TEACHERS 

it  so  profoundly  that  he  said  it  would 
solve  all  the  problems  of  mankind.  He 
was  so  glad  to  teach  it  that  he  sat  on 
the  mountain  side,  crossed  and  re- 
crossed  the  lake,  met  his  enemies  in 
the  synagogue,  stopped  in  the  high- 
ways and  by-ways  of  Jerusalem,  went 
to  the  feast  and  the  wedding — yes, 
even  talked  by  the  well  with  a  woman 
of  Samaria.  All  this  that  he  might 
have  the  chance  to  teach,  "I  am  the 
way,  the  truth,  and  the  life." 

He  taught  because  he  wanted  to. 
No  one  drove  him  forth,  no  one 
pressed  his  duty  upon  him,  no  one  ever 
said,  "You  ought  to."  He  said,  "I 
must."  And  so  men  listened  to  what 
he  taught,  women  believed  his  mes- 
sage, and  little  children  followed  him. 
After  more  than  nineteen  centuries 
11 


men  trust  their  souls  to  what  he  said. 

Yes,  he  had  something  to  teach  and 
taught  it,  eagerly,  with  enthusiasm  and 
authority.  The  real  teacher  does  that 
today,  and  he  teaches  with  power 
wherever  he  is.  The  reason  there  is 
so  much  mechanical,  empty,  forced 
teaching  today  is  just  because  men  and 
women  have  nothing  to  teach.  No 
vital,  life-giving  belief,  no  personal 
knowledge  of  the  thing  to  be  taught 
thrills  their  souls  until  it  must  be  said. 

No  one  can  give  outward  expression 
to  that  which  is  not  within.  He  may 
say,  but  unless  he  is,  it  will  not  count. 
He  may  say  it  beautifully,  but  he  will 
be  only  like  the  picture  without  the 
moving  power  of  the  real  sea. 

Look  at  a  class  of  school  children 
with  me  and  see  what  I  mean. 
12 


LIVING       TEACHERS 

One  day,  in  my  early  teaching,  at  a 
loss  for  a  subject  for  a  language  les- 
son, I  finally  chose,  "Animals  of  Other 
Countries."  I  showed  a  few  pictures, 
assigned  a  chapter  to  be  read,  talked 
about  two  or  three  animals  and  gave 
out  the  paper.  The  children  were  list- 
less, uninterested,  thought  long  and 
wrote  little.  When  I  collected  the 
papers  some  had  only  one  paragraph, 
and  that  made  up  of  names.  The 
lesson  was  a  dead  failure. 

A  year  or  two  ago  a  circus  was  com- 
ing to  the  city.  One  had  to  know 
it;  a  blind  man  could  scarcely  pass 
the  glaring  bill  boards  and  not  know. 
Every  child  was  intensely  interested. 
I  made  use  of  the  interest  and  centered 
it  upon  the  animals,  choosing  the  tiger, 
lion,  elephant  and  polar  bear.  I  de- 

13 


LIVING       TEACHERS 

scribed  their  homes  and  habits,  gave 
anecdotes  with  real  interest,  for  I 
wanted  them  to  see  the  animals  intelli- 
gently. The  "day  after"  came,  and 
when  it  was  time  for  the  language  les- 
son, I  said,  "You  are  no  longer  chil- 
dren. Some  of  you  are  polar  bears, 
some  tigers,  some  lions.  You  may 
choose  which  one  you  will  be  and  write 
your  story,  using  the  subject,  'The 
Story  of  My  Life.'  Begin  something 
like  this,  'Oh,  it  is  so  warm,  so  warm! 
These  cakes  of  ice  are  so  small.  Where 
are  the  great  fields  of  snow  and  huge 
icebergs  I  used — '  or,  'Ha!  I  wish  the 
bars  of  this  cage  were  not  so  strong. 
How  I  should  like  to  break  them  and 
get  back  to  my  beautiful  jungle.' ' 

They  took  their  pens  eagerly,  they 
wrote  hurriedly,  they  paid  no  attention 

14 


LIVING       TEACHERS 

to  position.  At  the  end  of  the  period 
they  were  disappointed.  They  had 
not  finished.  I  saw  Harriet  steal  out 
her  paper  during  history  and  write  a 
line  and  when  Jimmy  passed  out  at 
dismissal  he  astonished  me  by  the 
question,  "Say,  kin  I  come  in  early 
and  finish  mine?  I'm  a  tiger."  Jimmy 
asking  to  come  early  to  work! 

I  wish  you  might  have  read  those 
stories.  Interesting,  great  freedom  of 
expression,  dramatic,  every  one  of 
them  good.  Why  the  great  contrast 
between  these  and  those  of  my  early 
teaching?  You  know.  The  whole 
thing  was  real  to  the  latter  class  of 
children.  It  was  no  longer  a  dead 
subject,  it  lived.  They  had  seen  the 
animals,  their  interest  was  keen,  they 
had  something  to  say — they  said  it. 
15 


LIVING       TEACHERS 

If  we  as  teachers  could  only  catch 
the  deep  significance  of  it!  If  to  us 
the  great  subject  we  have  to  teach 
could  be  always  vital,  forceful,  real! 
Then  we  should  have  things  to  say  and 
they  would  listen  because  of  the  irre- 
sistible power  of  the  living  teacher, 
whose  message  springs  from  the  depths 
of  reality. 

I  saw  another  picture  in  the  gallery 
that  afternoon.  It  was  a  baby  sitting 
on  the  floor.  One  little  shoe  had  been 
pulled  off,  playthings  were  scattered 
about,  but  the  baby  scorned  them  all. 
Two  tiny  hands  reached  upward  and 
the  sweet  little  face  said  so  eloquently, 
"Take  me,  take  me,"  that  I  almost 
stretched  out  my  arms  in  answer  to 
the  appeal.  Yet  this  was  not  the  baby 
I  could  love.  This  baby,  whose  little 

16 


LIVING       TEACHERS 

outstretched  arm  would  never  tire, 
whose  blue  eyes  would  never  shut,  who 
would  never  change  through  the  pass- 
ing of  the  years,  quickly  lost  its  charm 
for  me. 

I  remembered  that  other  baby  as  I 
had  seen  it  in  the  nurse's  arms.  Such 
tiny  hands,  eyes  that  could  not  bear 
the  light,  a  precious  bundle  of  hungry 
senses  she  was  then,  a  promise — that 
was  all.  But  yesterday  as  I  passed  her 
home,  that  tiny  hand  pounded  hard  on 
the  window,  and  a  sweet  little  voice 
speaking  words  bade  me  come  in.  And 
I  knew  as  I  looked  at  her  that  in  a 
few  years  those  same  little  hands  would 
hold  a  pen,  and  that  little  tongue  re- 
peat the  wisdom  of  the  ages  that  are 
past!  A  few  more,  and  in  some  office 
those  same  little  hands  will  fly  over 
17 


the  typewriter,  or  in  the  parlor  bring 
music  from  ivory  keys,  or  in  the  busy 
school  point  out  the  way  of  knowl- 
edge, perchance  be  laid  in  tender 
blessings  upon  the  heads  of  little  chil- 
dren of  her  own.  Who  shall  say? 

She  has  power  and  potentiality. 
The  dynamic  is  within  her.  She  is 
alive!  And  while  she  lives  she  must 
change.  The  pictured  baby  can  never 
change.  While  she  lives  she  must 
grow.  The  pictured  baby  can  never 
grow. 

The  real  baby  will  grow  unless, 
alas,  some  dread  disease  should  seize 
her.  Imagine  the  agony  of  that 
mother,  if  one  day  the  physician,  turn- 
ing away  from  her  anxious  face,  should 
say,  "It  is  even-  as  I  feared,  she  may 
live,  but  she  will  never  develop,  she 
18 


LIVING       TEACHERS 

cannot  grow."  To  live  a  score  of 
years  and  more,  a  baby  still,  with  the 
charm  of  her  babyhood  gone!  It  were 
no  wonder  if  the  broken-hearted 
mother  whispered,  "It  were  better  she 
had  never  been  born." 

Yes,  the  normal,  healthy  child  must 
grow,  must  develop,  must  change. 
Change!  When  it  implies  develop- 
ment, what  a  splendid  word  it  is.  And 
yet  some  men  and  women  are  so  afraid 
of  it.  Some  teachers  even,  fear  it, 
look  at  it  with  suspicion.  To  them 
life  means  growth,  development, 
change,  up  to  a  certain  point — then 
there  is  nothing  beyond.  I  have  seen 
such  wrap  the  cloak  of  complacent 
self-satisfaction  about  them  and  all 
unknowing  begin  to  die. 

Let  me  show  you  what  I  mean.    A 

19 


LIVING       TEACHERS 

while  ago  I  visited  a  grade  in  a  gram- 
mar school  where  I  had  been  myself 
a  pupil.  The  teacher,  the  same  one  I 
had  then,  was  teaching  South  Amer- 
ica. She  was  teaching  it  exactly  as 
she  had  when  I  was  in  that  grade; 
the  same  topics,  using  the  same  books. 
It  all  came  back  to  me;  I  could  al- 
most have  recited  it  myself.  Think 
of  it!  South  America  in  the  same  way 
as  when  I  sat  in  that  room  and  com- 
mitted the  second  paragraph  to  mem- 
orv!  The  South  America  which  was 

j 

then  has  gone.  But  there  was  no  word 
of  new  railways,  no  word  of  revolu- 
tions, not  a  whisper  of  the  wonderful 
awakening  just  waiting  for  the  canal, 
nothing  of  the  events  taking  place  that 
very  week  in  our  fascinating  sister 
country.  Just  names  of  rivers  and 

20 


LIVING       TEACHERS 

mountains  and  plains.  I  asked  if  she 
were  using  the  putty  maps;  if  she  were 
trying  the  quick  sketching  to  fix  rivers 
and  plains  in  memory  and  show  the 
slope  of  the  land;  if  the  children  had 
made  the  canal  zone  in  sand  and  un- 
derstand any  of  the  baffling  prob- 
lems the  engineers  must  solve.  She 
shrugged  her  shoulders,  and  said  she 
did  not  take  much  stock  in  the  new 
fads,  and  it  would  be  time  enough  to 
teach  the  canal  when  it  was  finished. 
Her  children  were  listless  and  unin- 
terested, and  "don't  like  geography." 
Men  and  women,  that  teacher  was 
dead  and  didn't  know  it!  It  was  not 
the  number  of  years  she  had  taught, 
not  at  all;  it  was,  that  back  there 
somewhere,  she  came  to  a  place  where 
she  thought  she  "knew  how  to  teach 
21 


LIVING       TEACHERS 

geography,"  knew  it  all,  stopped  grow- 
ing and  began  to  die. 

I  know  a  man  in  Sunday  school  who 
has  a  class  of  boys  ranging  from 
eleven  to  sixteen  years  of  age.  He 
won't  have  the  class  divided.  He 
won't  have  his  school  graded.  He  does 
not  believe  in  the  graded  work  or 
school.  He  asks  questions  from  his 
quarterly  around  the  class  in  turn, 
dealing  out  a  few  morals  in  an  impres- 
sive tone  at  the  close.  He  lives  in  a 
community  where  parents  make  their 
boys  to  go  to  Sunday  school,  else  he 
wouldn't  have  any.  He  says  the  good 
old  way  is  all  right,  and  what  was 
good  enough  for  his  father  is  good 
enough  for  him.  But  the  strange 
thing  about  him  to  me  is  this:  His 
father's  religion  is  good  enough  for 

22 


LIVING       TEACHERS 

him,  but  that  is  all.  His  father  used 
to  drive  leisurely  down  to  his  office, 
stopping  to  chat  with  his  neighbors 
by  the  way — he  rides  down  in  an  auto 
at  limit  speed.  His  father  kept  his 
own  books  and  wrote  his  own  letters- 
he  has  an  adding  machine  and  keeps 
an  expert  stenographer.  His  father 
made  two  railway  journeys  during  his 
life  time,  the  longest  two  hundred 
miles — he  has  crossed  the  continent 
and  the  Atlantic.  His  father  lived  in 
a  very  plain,  ordinary  house,  heated 
by  fire-place  and  stove,  and  drew  water 
from  a  well — he  has  a  modern  .home, 
steam-heated  and  the  water  from  the 
reservoir  is  carefully  filtered,  some- 
times boiled  and  put  in  the  cooler. 

One  day  I  reminded  him  of  these 
facts.     He  said  he  could  not  live  and 

23 


LIVING       TEACHERS 

do  business  as  his  father  had,  condi- 
tions had  changed.  I  said  he  could 
not  teach  as  his  father  had,  conditions 
had  changed.  He  said  that  was  a  dif- 
ferent matter.  But  I  do  not  yet  see 
it,  although  I  have  tried. 

Yes,  growth  implies  change,  and  the 
man  or  woman  who  refuses  all  change 
ceases  to  grow.  When  one  ceases  to 
grow  he  begins  to  die. 

The  great  fundamental  laws  behind 
all  growth  are  unchanged,  unchang- 
ing, eternal.  But  these  very  laws  in 
operation  cause  change. 

Ah,  how  the  old  world  has  changed 
since  that  day  when  Christ  went  out 
through  the  city  gates  to  his  cross  on 
the  hill! 

When  I  ask  myself  what  has  been 
the  cause  of  the  great  upheavals,  and 
24 


LIVING       TEACHERS 

the  marvelous,  almost  incredible, 
changes  slowly  working  their  way  out 
in  the  world  since  He  came,  I  find  one 
answer.  He  is  the  cause.  His  works, 
His  life,  His  love,  His  great  passion 
and  His  greater  triumph,  these  have 
wrought  the  changes,  these  explain  the 
growth.  And  if  I  am  to  be  a  grow- 
ing, changing,  Living  Teacher,  I  must 
come  into  close,  direct,  uninterrupted 
contact  with  that  life-giving  power 
which  was  in  Him. 

I  must  give  myself  freely,  sincerely, 
without  reserve  to  the  fundamental 
laws  of  growth. 

What  are  those  laws?  I  must  know. 
I  cannot  move,  sleeping,  dying  or  dead 
through  a  living  world,  throbbing 
with  power,  suffering  with  pain,  eager 

25 


LIVING       TEACHERS 

with  longing.  A  live  world  demands 
a  living  teacher — and  I  must  live. 

But  I  cannot  truly  live,  I  cannot 
grow,  unless  I  take  means  to  support 
life  and  develop  it.  The  things  needed 
are  so  simple,  so  easy  of  access,  so  per- 
fectly possible,  that  in  our  eager 
searching  after  means  of  growth  we 
pass  them  by.  Four  things  we  must 
have — light  and  air,  food  and  exercise. 

Light!  It  is  everywhere.  We  have 
but  to  open  the  windows,  throw  wide 
the  blinds,  and  it  streams  in.  How 
much  we  need  it!  We  do  not  know 
all  there  is  to  know.  Our  century  has 
not  reached  God.  Those  who  loved 
the  Christ  in  the  early  years  believed 
they  knew  all.  They  expected  him  to 
return  in  a  little  while  and  looked  for 
their  reward.  How  little  even  Peter, 
26 


LIVING       TEACHERS 

James  and  John  knew  of  the  majesty 
and  power  of  their  Lord.  They 
thought  their  little  world  was  all, 
while  silent,  undiscovered,  undreamed 
of,  lay  the  great  country  where  today 
a  mighty  people  bow  in  reverence  at 
the  mention  of  His  name. 

Martin  Luther,  filled  with  the  glory 
of  the  fact  that  "the  just  shall  live  by 
faith,"  thought  he  had  found  "all 
truth."  He  stood  only  at  the  thresh- 
old. 

The  Pilgrim  Fathers,  sailing  across 
the  treacherous  sea  in  their  tiny  ships, 
to  kneel  on  the  bleak  shore  of  the  new 
country,  were  but  opening  another 
door.  In  their  blindness  they  reached 
out  eager  hands  to  close  all  others  save 
their  own. 

No,  we  do  not  know  God.     But  he 

27 


LIVING       TEACHERS 

knows  us.  Sees  us  put  up  our  high 
board  fences,  our  granite  walls,  close 
our  doors,  draw  the  curtains  of  our 
prejudice,  and  shut  out  the  light. 
Sees  us — and  waits  with  the  patience 
which  belongs  only  to  omnipotence — 
waits,  until  some  greater  soul  breaks 
down  a  barrier,  pushes  a  prejudice 
aside,  and  lets  in  another  beam  of 
light.  "A  new  truth  discovered,"  men 
say;  some  doubt,  some  accept,  and 
some  greatly  troubled  throw  away 
what  truth  they  have.  A  new  truth? 
No!  Truth  is  the  same.  It  is  fixed, 
unchangeable,  eternal,  true!  Not  new 
truth,  just  another  beam  of  light  re- 
vealing a  little  more  of  the  glorious 
whole. 

Last  fall  when  the  harvest  moon  was 
full  and  hung  so  big  and  round  and 
28 


LIVING       TEACHERS 

low  in  the  sky,  a  little  eight-year-old 
went  to  the  postoffice  with  me.  As  we 
walked  along  he  suddenly  looked  up. 
"See,  the  moon  is  following  us,"  he 
said,  "it  goes  right  along  as  fast  as  we 
do."  I  explained  that  the  moon  did 
not  really  move  along  with  us,  just 
looked  as  if  it  did.  He  did  not  be- 
lieve it.  When  we  reached  the  office, 
pointing  his  small  finger  straight  at 
the  tower  he  said  in  most  convincing 
tone,  "There's  that  moon  right  over 
the  tower;  it  did  follow  us,  look!"  I 
shook  my  head  but  said  nothing. 
There-  was  nothing  I  could  say.  We 
went  home,  the  great  shining  ball  fol- 
lowing us  all  the  way,  and  when  I 
left  him  at  his  door,  with  glad  trium- 
phant voice  he  called  out,  "Look,  look 

29 


LIVING       TEACHERS 

at  it!  There  it  is  right  over  your  house ; 
it  came  back  with  us  again." 

When  he  went  in,  I  stood  looking 
up  at  it,  so  bright,  so  still,  so  near.  I 
knew  that  it  was  far,  far  away;  that 
it  was  cold  and  dark,  shining  only 
with  borrowed  light.  I  knew  I  told 
the  child  the  truth.  I  knew  it  did  not 
follow  us.  I  knewr  how  to  explain  the 
delusion — but  I  could  not  explain  it 
to  him.  He  was  so  little,  so  limited, 
his  knowledge  was  so  meagre,  there 
were  no  words,  no  terms,  no  medium 
through  which  I  might  give  my 
knowledge  to  him.  For  several  years 
yet  the  moon  will  follow  him  up  town 
and  return  with  him.  But  little  by 
little,  step  by  step,  I  shall  teach  him, 
until  some  day  he  reaches  the  place 
where  I  can  explain  it  all,  and  have 

30 


LIVING       TEACHERS 

the  joy  of  seeing  the  light  break  over 
his  face,  and  hear  those  words  a 
teacher  loves,  "Oh,  now  I  see."  Then 
I  can  open  his  eyes  to  new  mysteries 
and  teach  him  again  to  "see."  And 
so  he  grows. 

Men  and  women,  I  have  often  wan- 
dered if  life  does  not  mean  that  I  am 
being  taught,  little  by  little,  step  by 
step,  until  I  shall  reach  the  place 
where  the  Great  Teacher  can  explain, 
and  I  can  understand  and  cry  out  with 
my  small  boy,  "Oh,  now  I  see." 

And  when  I  have  seen,  He  will 
show  me  a  new  mystery  and  teach  me 
to  understand.  And  so  I  grow. 

But  alas  for  me,  if  I  shut  out  the 
light.  Then  the  healthful,  bracing, 
life-giving  air  goes  too,  and  leaves  me 
weak  and  anaemic,  ready  to  receive  the 

31 


LIVING       TEACHERS 

deadly  germs  that  lurking  in  the  dark, 
easily  find  lodgment  in  my  soul. 

If  one  is  to  grow  he  must  have  food. 
Not  any  kind  of  food  that  will  satisfy 
hunger  for  the  moment,  but  food  of 
the  right  sort. 

Have  you  ever  seen  them,  the  tiny 
babies  brought  by  careworn  mothers 
to  city  clinics?  So  small,  weak  and 
puny,  suffering  from  no  disease,  just 
starving  for  food?  The  little  faces 
haunt  one  for  days.  I  saw  one  baby 
I  shall  never  forget.  I  should  have 
been  almost  afraid  to  hold  the  tiny, 
frail,  little  thing;  but  the  mother  held 
it  so  tenderly,  so  close.  The  doctor 
thought  a  long  time  and  then  gave  the 
formula  for  the  milk  which  he  hoped 
would  save  it.  It  was  successful — just 
the  food  the  child  needed.  At  the  end 

32 


LIVING       TEACHERS 

of  three  months  the  little  face  was 
round,  eyes  bright  and  hands  so  differ- 
ent. With  joy  in  her  face  the  mother 
told  of  the  weekly  gain.  The  doctor 
listened  and  questioned,  changing  and 
adapting  his  formula  to  meet  the  need 
of  the  child.  Years  ago  that  child 
would  have  died,  starved,  in  the  moth- 
er's arms.  But  now  we  have  learned 
that  food  of  the  right  sort  means  nour- 
ishment, life  and  growth.  We  are  be- 
ginning to  understand,  too,  that  that 
which  is  true  of  physical  life  is  true  of 
mental  and  spiritual;  that  our  prob- 
lem is  often  just  to  find  the  formula, 
to  be  able  to  supply  food  that  will 
nourish  and  build  up  the  tissue  of 
mind  and  soul.  Yet  how  slow  we  are 
to  do  it. 

How    little    the    average    teacher 

33 


LIVING       TEACHERS 

thinks.  He  says  there  is  no  time  to 
think,  but  that  is  not  quite  true.  One 
may  think  in  so  many  places  when  he 
has  learned  how.  I  may  stand  some 
rainy  night  in  a  crowded  trolley  car 
holding  on  to  the  strap,  pushed  and 
jostled  by  people  who  are  tired  and 
cross,  and  think  thoughts  that  reach 
down  to  the  heart  of  things  and  up  to 
the  heart  of  God.  Or  I  may  simply 
hold  on,  and  frown  and  fret  at  the 
weather  and  the  crowd.  Pleasant, 
helpful,  broadening,  stimulating,  satis- 
fying thoughts  may  be  mine,  if  I  but 
fill  my  mind,  in  odd  moments,  if  I 
have  no  other  time,  with  material  out 
of  which  thought  and  the  power  to 
think  is  made. 

Imagination,  that  great  door  through 
which  thought  passes  from  the  seen  to 

34 


LIVING       TEACHERS 

the  unseen,  how  little  we  use  it!  Per- 
haps not  at  all  after  twenty.  I  stepped 
into  a  school-room  a  while  ago  where 
forty  bright-eyed  boys  and  girls  of 
nine  and  ten  years  were  sitting.  Out- 
side the  dull  gray  clouds  hung  low, 
and  suddenly  the  snow  began  to  fall, 
lazily  at  first,  then  in  great  flurries. 
It  was  the  first  snow  of  the  winter. 
The  children  turned  around  and 
looked  out  of  the  window  and  at  each 
other,  happiness  on  every  face.  One 
little  fellow  forgot  where  he  was,  and 
said  in  a  loud  whisper,  "Look,  it's 
snowing!" 

The  teacher  had  been  annoyed  by 
the  wandering  eyes,  and  this  brought 
a  reprimand.  "We  all  know  it's  snow- 
ing; we  have  seen  snow  before,"  she 
said  in  her  calm,  cold  voice,  "we  are 
35 


LIVING      TEACHERS 

drawing  maps  now."  It  was  true, 
they  were  and  they  must.  But  where 
were  memory  and  imagination? 
Starved!  She  had  forgotten  the  first 
snow  when  one  is  ten  and  just  before 
Christmas!  Ah,  one  does  not  feel  then 
that  he  has  "seen  it  many  times  be- 
fore." If  in  imagination  she  could 
only  have  gone  back  she  would  have 
been  a  better  teacher  that  day. 

What  men  and  women  miss  who 
have  starved  the  imagination  and  let 
it  die!  They  cannot  stand  before  the 
crowded  counter  at  Christmas  and 
know  what  it  means  as  they  watch  the 
rough  Italian  laborer,  just  from  the 
street,  buy  a  curly-haired,  blue-eyed 
doll  for  ten  cents,  and  go  out  holding 
it  carefully  under  his  arm.  It  is  not 
possible  for  them  to  hear  the  angels 

36 


LIVING       TEACHERS 

sing  over  Judean  hills.  It  is  not  pos- 
sible while  walking  home  some  still, 
clear  night  when  the  stars  are  shining, 
to  go  far  away  over  sea  and  land  to 
the  house  outside  Jerusalem  and  watch 
the  Pharisee,  Nicodemus,  going  slowly 
up  the  hill  to  the  Master  with  his 
burning  question.  Such  an  one  can- 
not feel  the  thrill  of  power  in  the  an- 
swer nor  catch  a  sudden  glimpse  of 
its  meaning  while  he  breathes  from 
the  depth  of  his  own  soul — teach  me 
also,  thou  Christ,  teach  me!  To  him 
the  stars  are  ordinary,  the  sky  just  as 
always,  and  the  story,  words. 

How  many  men  and  women  every- 
where in  this  world  are  living  starved 
lives — sympathies  blunted  by  disuse, 
the  emotions  shallow  and  limited,  ca- 
pacity for  deep  friendships  and  large 
37 


LIVING       TEACHERS 

interests  growing  less  with  every  year. 
They  are  daily  feeding  their  souls  on 
the  little,  the  petty,  the  mean  in  human 
life.  If  I  am  to  be  a  living  teacher, 
these  things  must  not  be  true  of  me. 
I  must  give  mind  and  soul  food  of  the 
right  sort,  that  I  may  daily  take  up 
my  work  with  a  spirit  that  is  health- 
ful, well  nourished  and  sane.  Then 
the  powers  within  me  will  cry  out  for 
exercise,  and  I  shall  plunge  cheerfully 
into  the  work  of  my  world  with  all 
that  I  am. 

There  is  room  for  exercise  every- 
where. The  world  offers  an  unlimited 
athletic  field.  If  your  faith  is  weak,  go 
to  work,  and  it  won't  be  so  long.  That 
eighteen-year-old  girl,  who  came  to  me 
troubled  by  doubts  of  every  kind,  lost 
them  all  before  she  had  finished  giv- 
38 


LIVING       TEACHERS 

ing  the  fourth  music  lesson  to  a  fac- 
tory girl  whose  soul  hungered  for  mu- 
sic, beauty  and  friendship.  The  splen- 
did courage  and  sweet  womanliness  of 
the  girl  with  no  chance,  opened  her 
eyes. 

That  young  man,  intelligent,  full  of 
energy,  beginning  to  drift  away  from 
the  church,  to  shrug  his  shoulders  a 
little  at  its  Sunday  school,  to  spend 
his  Sunday  evenings  in  a  purely  social 
way,  turned  around  completely  when 
given  charge  of  a  boys'  club  with  a 
room  equipped  for  gymnastics.  The 
hard  work  he  put  into  it,  the  personal 
contact  two  nights  each  week  with, 
twelve  and  fourteen-year-old  boys  who 
so  frankly  admired  him,  made  a  fine 
man  of  him. 

The  weak  of  will,  faith  and  charac- 
39 


LIVING       TEACHERS 

ter  in  the  world,  like  the  weak  of 
muscle  and  brain  are  not  those  who 
work,  but  those  who  stand  by  waiting. 
Reward  for  work  has  always  been 
strength  and  ability  to  do  more  work. 
Exercise  means  increased  capacity. 

Light  and  air,  food  and  exercise  for 
mind  and  spirit,  as  well  as  body — these 
will  send  me  to  my  class  a  living 
teacher  with  a  real  answer  to  the  prob- 
lems of  the  every  day  in  which  my 
pupils  live  and  work  out  their  salva- 
tion. 

Living  teachers,  then,  will  have 
power  born  of  the  depths  of  reality. 
They  will  change,  they  will  grow  and 
develop  steadily  through  the  years. 
But  that  is  not  all.  They  will  awaken 
life. 

Life    begets    life.     To    awaken,    to 

40 


LIVING       TEACHERS 

quicken,  to  produce  life  in  mind  and 
soul — this  is  the  teacher's  greatest  mis- 
sion. And  life  is  interest.  Without 
interest  there  can  be  no  real  life. 

When  I  left  the  art  gallery  that 
afternoon  and  walked  again  down  the 
hot,  dusty  street,  I  saw  the  same  look 
on  the  faces  of  men  and  women  that 
you  see  today  in  your  own  city  or 
town.  Where  are  the  happy,  inter- 
ested faces  filled  with  eager  anticipa- 
tion? I  did  not  find  them.  Neither 
can  you. 

The  tired,  fretful,  anxious,  hurried, 
care-worn  faces,  some  which  seem 
bored  by  life,  and  many  marked  by 
sins  of  passion  and  indulgence,  all 
these  are  there.  They  seem  to  say  that 
life  is  naught  but  toil  and  grind,  and 

41 


LIVING       TEACHERS 

to  find  pleasure  is  such  a  struggle  that 
it  hardly  pays  to  seek  it. 

Ah!  it  is  after  a  walk  through 
crowded  city  streets  that  I  love  my 
children  with  their  bright,  eager  faces 
filled  with  interest,  with  pleasure, 
present  and  anticipated.  Then  I  know 
what  it  means  to  be  a  teacher  of  chil- 
dren. Often  as  I  pass  from  one  room 
to  another,  I  feel  like  whispering  to 
them,  "Don't  grow  up — you  will  lose 
it,  the  keen  interest  in  life  and  things 
—you  will  be  like  them,  the  men  and 
women  I  see  on  train  and  trolley,  on 
ocean  liners,  in  great  hotels,  at  theatre 
doors  and  in  church  pews — don't  grow 
up." 

I  never  look  into  the  face  of  an 
audience  of  girls  in  their  early  teens, 
filled  with  hope,  joy  and  life,  without 
42 


LIVING       TEACHERS 

longing  to  cry  out  to  them,  "Don't 
grow  up."  For  I  remember  how  their 
older  sisters  look  after  three  or  four 
years  of  business,  or,  worse  still,  of 
social  life.  I  recall  the  faces  of  others 
who  have  lived  longer  and  have  lost 
it — lost  it — the  keen  interest  in  living 
which  is  life. 

But  some  have  kept  it.  Some  have 
grown  up,  and  enthusiasm,  genuine  in- 
terest, love  of  life  is  with  them  still. 
I  saw  such  an  one  on  the  train  one 
dreary  November  day.  He  was  a  man 
about  fifty,  quiet  in  manner,  but  peo- 
ple glanced  up  as  he  passed.  It  was 
a  face  one  was  glad  to  see.  The  man 
sitting  in  front  of  me  made  room  for 
him  and  went  on  looking  at  his  paper. 
He  had  interested  me  because  he 
studied  the  column  "Male  Help 

43 


LIVING       TEACHERS 

Wanted"  so  earnestly  and,  though  a 
young  man,  seemed  discouraged  and 
dejected.  Finally,  he  folded  the  paper 
with  a  sigh. 

The  older  man  looked  keenly  at  him 
for  a  moment,  then  spoke.  I  could  not 
hear  the  conversation,  but  it  was  earn- 
est. A  card  was  passed  to  the  younger 
man  and  his  face  brightened.  He 
gave  his  own  name  and  it  was  written 
in  a  pocket  diary.  As  we  drew  into 
the  station  at  Boston  they  both  stood. 
I  can  see  that  handshake  now.  I  have 
not  seen  many  like  it.  The  younger 
man's  face  showed  the  response  he  felt, 
and  his  voice  trembled  as  he  said,  "It's 
the  first  encouragement  I've  had  for 
months,  and  if  I  don't  get  the  place, 
you've  put  a  little  heart  into  me  any- 
way." 

44 


LIVING       TEACHERS 

I  understood  the  power  and  peace 
of  that  face  then.  He  had  been  for 
years  putting  "a  little  heart"  into  men. 
As  he  hurried  into  the  crowd  to  greet 
a  friend,  he  walked  as  if  he  loved  to 
live,  and  a  deep  happiness  and  joy 
seemed  to  be  his.  I  have  seen  others, 
both  men  and  women,  who  have  kept 
it.  Alice  Freeman  Palmer  never  lost 
it.  She  put  out  her  hand  and  spoke 
to  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  men  and 
their  world  became  new.  I  suppose 
it  was  the  secret  of  Lincoln.  There 
are  many  in  whom  the  great  funda- 
mentals which  make  men  brothers 
throb  warm  and  deep.  There  ought 
to  be  more.  Perhaps  there  would  be, 
if  we  teachers  had  more  interest  and 
love  of  life  to  implant  deeply  in  the 
hearts  of  our  children. 
45 


LIVING       TEACHERS 

The  keen  interest  of  living — if  I 
could  only  give  it  back  to  those  who 
have  lost  it!  That  is  what  Christ  did. 
With  splendid  enthusiasm,  sane  zeal, 
genuine  interest  he  faced  that  dead 
system  of  religion  which  had  lost  its 
power  over  life. 

The  tithes  of  mint  and  annis,  the 
washings  and  the  sacrifices,  the  hope- 
lessly dead  letter  of  the  law — empty, 
its  warm,  vital  spirit  gone;  into  that 
world  he  poured  his  living,  loving, 
eager  soul,  and  it  awoke!  The  Phari- 
sees listened,  Sadducees  asked  ques- 
tions, lawyers  debated  great  problems, 
the  rich  young  ruler  sought  him  out, 
men  and  women  wept  tears  of  real  re- 
pentance and  began  to  live  new  lives. 
Everywhere  men  awoke,  threw  the 
husks  of  a  dead  system  away  and  be- 
46 


LIVING       TEACHERS 

gan  to  live.  Interest,  deep,  real,  life- 
giving,  came  back  to  men,  and  made 
Peter,  John  and  Paul  possible. 

How  sadly  the  world  needs  him  to- 
day! How  much  it  needs  men  and  wo- 
men who  have  caught  something  of  his 
spirit.  The  church  needs  them  that 
it  may  have  living  preachers  in  its  pul- 
pits, living  Christians  in  its  pews,  liv- 
ing teachers  of  its  children. 

If  life,  genuine,  warm,  rich,  abund- 
ant, filled  the  hearts  of  those  of  us  in 
the  church  today,  men  and  women 
would  not  wait  so  long  outside.  I 
know  it.  So  do  you.  Nor  would  there 
be  so  many  empty  chairs  in  the  Sun- 
day school  rooms. 

The  business  of  every  teacher  is  to 
encourage  and  enthuse  every  pupil  he 
teaches.  He  is  an  artist,  and  the  pic- 

47 


LIVING       TEACHERS 

ture  he  paints  should  awaken  the  am- 
bition of  each  child,  stir  his  soul  with 
desire  to  be,  and  inspire  him  with  con- 
fidence that  he  can  be.  And  if  the 
teacher  is  keenly  alive,  a  lover  of  the 
world,  feels  the  response  of  its  great 
heart,  his  task  is  perfectly  possible. 

I  never  can  forget  a  magazine 
story,  "The  Artist's  Masterpiece,"  told 
me  by  a  friend  some  years  ago.  It  is 
a  wonderful  story  and  shows  just  what 
all  I  have  been  saying  means. 

Back  into  the  country  town  that 
gave  him  birth,  the  story  says,  came 
the  great  artist,  proud  of  all  the  honor 
and  success  hard  work  had  brought  to 
him.  He  wanted  rest,  to  see  the  old 
places  he  loved  and  live  all  over  again 
the  simple,  natural  life  of  his  boyhood. 

At  first  the  people  were  afraid  of 

48 


LIVING       TEACHERS 

his  fame,  but  in  a  few  weeks  he  was 
the  interested  friend  of  men,  women 
and  children,  trusted  and  loved  by  all 

save  one — Mr.  A . 

Ten  years  before,  Mr.  A had 

come  a  stranger  to  the  town.  He  said 
nothing  about  himself,  had  no  letters 
of  introduction,  would  answer  no  ques- 
tions. He  opened  a  law  office  where 
he  spent  his  days;  at  night  he  studied. 
He  was  a  mystery.  Rumor  said  that 
an  important  position  awaited  him  in 
a  distant  city,  but  he  would  not  return. 
One  day  the  town  was  greatly  excited 
over  a  consulship  in  a  distant  land 
which  was  offered  him.  He  refused 
to  accept  it.  After  a  time  they  grew 
accustomed  to  him,  spoke  of  him  in 
half  suspicious  tones,  and  left  him  to 
himself. 

49 


The  artist  had  tried  in  vain  to  know 
him.  But  one  day,  in  response  to  the 
confidence  in  him  which  he  had  ex- 
pressed, Mr.  A said  that  he  had 

made  a  mistake  in  his  life,  lost  his 
courage,  and  wished  to  forget.  He 
would  say  no  more.  After  that,  seeing 
him  walk  slowly  along,  head  down, 
listless  and  not  caring,  a  great  desire 
to  help  him  find  life  again,  filled  the 
artist's  soul. 

He  had  promised  himself  a  full 
year  of  rest,  but  now  sought  out  a 
studio  and  began  to  paint.  Eagerly, 
steadily,  with  keenest  enthusiasm  he 
labored.  Months  passed  and  his  picture 
was  finished.  That  day  he  sought  Mr. 

A in  his  office  and  asked  him  to 

come  down  and  see  the  picture.    "It  is 

my    masterpiece,"    he    said,    "I    shall 

50 


LIVING       TEACHERS 

never  do  anything  better,  I  have  put 
all  my  art  into  it.  No  one  has  seen  it 
yet.  Will  you  look  at  it?" 

Mr.  A seemed  pleased.  They 

walked  together  to  the  studio.  The 
artist  stepped  behind  the  great  canvas 
stretched  across  the  room.  He  pulled 
aside  the  crimson  curtain,  and  there 

before  him  Mr.  A saw  himself. 

Yet  it  was  not  he,  for  the  man  upon 
the  canvas  faced  the  world  straight, 
shoulders  thrown  back,  head  erect,  am- 
bition, desire,  hope,  in  attitude  and  ex- 
pression. 

For  a  long  time  he  gazed  in  silence. 
The  artist  waited  breathlessly  to  see  if 
his  masterpiece  were  a  success  or  fail- 
ure. At  last  Mr.  A—  -  spoke.  "He 
thinks  I'm  that,"  he  said.  "He  sees 
that  in  me."  Then  a  pause.  "Am  I 
si 


LIVING       TEACHERS 

that?  Can  I  be  that?"  In  a  moment 
the  artist  stood  beside  him.  Together 
they  looked  at  the  man  on  the  canvas 
while  the  other  asked  again,  "Can  I 
be  that?"  "Yes,"  said  the  artist,  and  it 
seemed  the  voice  of  the  masterpiece. 

Then  said  Mr.  A ,  gazing  straight 

at  it,  "I  will  go  back,  I  will  be  that" 
And  he  went  from  the  studio,  courage, 
hope,  confidence  in  every  step. 

Men  and  women,  that  is  what  I 
mean.  The  living  teacher  is  an  artist. 
He  paints  for  every  one  he  teaches,  a 
masterpiece,  and  brings  him  face  to 
face  with  it.  Whether  it  be  a  boy 
with  the  world  all  new  before  him,  or 
a  girl  filled  with  the  joy  of  living,  a 
man  or  woman  who  has  tried  life  and 
found  it  hard — as  he  looks  at  the  pic- 
ture of  himself  there  is  a  new  light  in 

52 


his  eyes  and  a  new  look  on  his  face  as 
he  says,  "Am  I  that?— Can  I  be  that?1' 
And  perchance  the  teacher  who  stands 
by  to  answer  "Yes,"  may  hear  him  say, 
"I  will  be  that,"  and  see  him  go  with 
courage  and  confidence  into  his  world. 
A  living  teacher!  "Am  I  that?" 
"Can  I  be  that?"  The  Great  Artist 
answers  "Yes,"  and  with  courage,  hope 
and  confidence  my  soul  replies,  "I  will 
be  that." 


53 


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